When It Becomes Real
by Alexandri
Summary: A series of turning points from characters I don't write about much. Oneshot. There will be no more. Okay, so I lied. Just this last one and that's it. Really.
1. Carl

A/N: Hey, everybody. I wrote these today. Got the idea when I thought of another reason why Carl didn't tell Adam about his dating. They're kind of depressing. Sad anyway. But I'm good. Your sweet, lovely reviews of my other story helped. Thanks. I hope these don't suck. Alexandri

Once he'd tried to make Elizabeth a birthday cake. It was doomed from the beginning. He'd forgotten to preheat the oven, used the wrong size eggs, under-measured the butter, and put in too much flour. The cake was a dry, crumbly mess.

She'd come in as he attempted to salvage the thing with icing. He'd stopped and waited, painfully conscious of his pitiful cake and the mess he'd made of the kitchen.

Finally, she came to stand beside him. She brushed flour off of his nose before pointing at the cake. "Is this for me?"

He was so anxious over her pending reaction, he feared his voice would squeak, so he simply nodded.

"Thank you. We'll have to take a picture of it."

"Okay," he said slowly. He wondered if they were looking at the same cake.

Elizabeth hugged him and kissed his flour-dusted cheek. "You're banned from my kitchen."

"What?"

"You heard me," she'd answered laughingly. "No one should be subjected to this kind of horror."

"Ha, ha. Very funny," he said as he pulled her into his arms. In a moment of uncharacteristic silliness, he began to tickle his wife. She'd clutched his shoulders and begged him to stop even as her peals of laughter rang in his ears. He gave in and pulled her closer. "I love you, Lizzie."

She'd smiled up at him. "I love you, too, sweetheart. Now go take a shower while I clean up this mess."

He'd kissed her and done as he was told.

Then she was gone.

"Why couldn't you just tell me you were dating, Dad?" Adam demanded, clearly hurt that Carl felt the need to hide it from him. "Why did it have to be a big secret all this time?"

Despite the fact that he'd dated off and on for the last seven years, he'd never truly analyzed why he kept it from Adam. But sitting here with him, seeing the pain in his son's eyes, which were so much like Lizzie's, he knew. Carl sighed and raised his eyes to his son's. "Because telling you makes it all real. And I didn't want it to be."


	2. Will

            He'd been dreading this moment since Joan and Adam's engagement last year—the moment he saw his baby girl in her wedding dress.  As the others babbled their admiration, Will stood to the back of the group and tried to control his emotions.

            His relationship with Joan had always been the sweetest and least complicated of his relationships with his children.  Especially in her teen years, Joan had never been afraid to be honest or affectionate with him.  He'd never had to find common ground with her.  It simply existed.

             She stood before him, his little girl now a radiant, mature woman.  In a few hours, he'd have to walk her down the aisle and give her to Adam.  A part of him didn't mind the task.  In many ways, Joan had been Adam's since high school.  It was the responsibility he didn't want to relinquish.  As long as she remained unmarried, she was just his daughter.  It was up to him to look out for her, protect her.  To willingly give up that role was more than time had prepared Will for.

            "Daddy?"

            Will looked up to find himself alone with Joan for the first time in weeks.  She beamed at him before throwing her arms around his neck, oddly heedless of her dress, and hugged him tight.  "I'll always be your little girl, Daddy.  Nothing will ever change that."

            "You promise?"

            Joan pulled back and stared solemnly into his eyes.  "I never lie to my daddy."  She smiled and patted his cheek.  "Ever."


	3. Helen

A/N: This one made _me_ cry as I wrote it. Don't know what came over me.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Tears streamed from her eyes, running into her ears, but she didn't make a sound. She didn't want to worry the man beside her.

Cautiously, Helen turned to look at him. Never had she imagined that she'd meet a man like Will Girardi, especially after that horrible . . . . Helen stopped the thought. She didn't want to remember it. Not now when everything seemed good again. And possible. Will's hand caressed her where it lay on her bare stomach. A thrill of happiness shot through her. A whimper escaped her and, covering her mouth, she turned her head away so as not to wake Will.

They'd met a year and a half ago in a deli. She'd bumped into him on his way out. He'd steadied her and, realizing that she was crying, tried to make her feel better. At first, she'd been skittish. After the horrible . . . after the event in her dorm room, she avoided most men. But Will's kindness coupled with his cop uniform calmed her enough so that she let him lead her to a table.

Once she was seated, he'd insisted on buying her lunch. When she'd asked if he didn't have somewhere more important he needed to be, he'd said he was off-duty and wouldn't feel right if he left a pretty young lady such as herself so unhappy. So they'd eaten their lunch together and talked about nothing in particular.

Not once during their conversation did he ask her what made cry. It was like he knew instinctively that she wouldn't tell him. But when they were done, he'd asked if he could have her number. She'd balked, panicking at the thought of this stranger knowing how to reach her even if he was a cop. Before she could refuse, he'd held up his hand. "Or how about we have lunch again?"

"Okay," she'd said, surprised that she'd agreed.

They'd arranged to meet at the same time next week. Soon, it became a part of her routine. Tuesdays at one she met Will and they talked and ate and sometimes he even made her laugh. Then, in addition to their weekly lunch appointment, they were going to the movies and the bowling alley and concerts together. Before she knew it, the kind officer was a fixture in her life. Someone she depended on. Someone she wanted to be with. Someone she was developing feelings for. And she hadn't told him the truth about her.

One day, about six months after they'd met, he'd taken her to dinner. She'd sat across from him, trying to figure out how to tell him. How would he take it? Would he want to see her anymore? What if he thought that she was tainted, that she'd wasted his time when he could have been spending it with someone whole? "Will?" she'd whispered, feeling like the room was closing in on her. "I have to tell you something."

"All right."

And she'd told him, forced herself to say the words even though she couldn't compel herself to look at him. Finally she'd stopped talking and waited for his reaction. When he didn't say anything, she'd gathered her courage and looked up at him. The fury burning in his eyes took her aback, scared her even. She'd gathered her purse and, swallowing back the tears at the back of her throat, nodded. "I understand." She'd scooted along the booth cushion, desperate to escape the look in his eyes.

He caught her hand. "Helen?" She didn't answer. "Look at me," he'd requested gently.

Blinking to rid her eyes of the tears she didn't want him to see, she did as he asked.

"What do you understand?" he'd asked, his voice rough.

"I understand you not wanting to see me anymore," she whispered, her throat too clogged with tears to talk any louder.

He'd looked at her as if she'd said the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Of course, I still want to see you."

"You do? You don't think that I'm defective, that I'm . . ."

"Oh, Helen." Will got up and slid into the booth next to her. "There is nothing wrong with you. Do you hear me? Nothing. I only wish I could kill the bastard who did this to you."

She'd tried to smile, but found that she couldn't. She'd closed her eyes and laid her head on Will's shoulder. He'd wrapped his arms around her and held her like he never intended to let her go. The tears she'd been holding back came then.

After she'd composed herself, Will had taken her home. At her door, he'd pulled her into his arms. "There's no rush, Helen. We'll take it as slow as you need. I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to."

She'd leaned into him, a happy, relieved smile on her face. "I don't want you to go anywhere."

"I'm glad."

She pulled back ready to go inside. When he said her name, she raised her eyes to his face to find his eyes locked on her lips. "May I?" he'd whispered.

It had surprised her how much she wanted his kiss. She'd nodded. "Please."

Will's lips claimed hers in a soft, impossibly gentle kiss. He'd pulled back just as it was on the verge of becoming more passionate. Ignoring the tiny sound of protest she made, Will brushed his lips over her forehead. "In time, sweetheart. I promise."

Now, a year to the date, she lay in bed beside him for the first time. They'd tried this a few times before, but Helen had never been able to go through with it. Tonight, they'd been sitting on his couch watching television when a casual kiss turning into passion. Before either knew what was happening, they'd found themselves in his bed. Will worshipped every inch of her, praising her with every kiss, every caress. When neither could hold back any longer, he'd rolled her on top of him. "I'm all yours," he'd told her as his hands slid up her thighs to lightly hold her hips. He'd followed her lead, letting her set the pace before finally guiding her to a explosive climax. Afterwards, he held her as she trembled and tried to breathe normally. "I love you, Helen," he'd whispered in her hair. "I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Ever."

She'd tried to tell him how she felt, how grateful she was to him for showing her that she _could_ feel this way, but she couldn't get the words out so she'd clung to him and felt perfectly safe for the first time since the incident.

Now he was asleep and the intensity of the evening overwhelmed Helen as she attempted to stifle her tears. She choked back a sob just as his thumb grazed her stomach.

"Helen?"

"Hmm?" She didn't look at him.

The bed shifted as he rose up on his elbow and tried to see her face. "Was it too soon?"

Her eyes jerked to his face then, dismayed to see remorse and fear in his eyes. Helen cupped his cheek in her hands and smiled. "No."

"Then why are you crying?"

"Because I'm happy," she admitted. "Because I didn't think this would happen for me."

Will blinked back tears of his own and kissed her palm. He gasped her name, suddenly as overwhelmed as she was.

She leaned up and kissed him deeply. Staring intensely into his eyes, she said the words she'd never thought she'd ever say to a man. "I love you, too, Will."


	4. Rabbi Polonski

A/N: Again, there will be questions. I swear I'll answer them in the Grace/Luke fic which I'm actually in the process of plotting.

"I agree with Dad."

Silence descended over the Polonski dining room. Rabbi Polonski's mouth dropped open. He was certain he hadn't heard correctly. The last time Grace had agreed with him about anything was before she'd changed her surname.

When she'd been a little girl, Grace had looked up to him. She'd come into his study and stand beside him, her elbows propped on his desk. She'd read over his shoulder, making little humming noises when she didn't quite get something. He'd pretend she wasn't there, waiting to see how long it would take her to announce her presence. Even as a child, Grace was impatient. She never lasted more than three minutes. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Grace," he'd say without looking up. She'd see his smile if he did.

"Whatcha doing?"

He'd tell her.

"So what does this mean?" She'd point to the passage in question.

"Were you reading over my shoulder again, Gracie?"

She'd nod, then shrug her shoulders. "I was curious."

His smile would grow full-blown and he'd pick her up, settle her in his lap, and explain whatever he was doing. Grace would invariably recline against him like he was reading her a bedtime story. Once he was done, she'd ponder the information for a moment, then surprise him some viewpoint he usually hadn't considered. His Gracie was an uncommonly bright child.

But those moments in his study had become few and far between as their family began to fall apart. The rabbi knew Grace blamed him for it. She'd told him as much. "Do something?" she demanded once when she was ten. "Why are you letting this happen?"

"There's only so much I can do, Gracie," he'd answered and tried to hug her.

She'd shrugged him off. "Don't call me that. You can't call me that anymore."

"Gracie."

"No." She'd run for the stairs. Halfway up she'd turned back to him, her eyes bright. "Make it stop, Daddy."

But he hadn't been able to. Grace had never forgiven him. There were no more moments in the study.

Now she sat at the dining table, arms crossed over her stomach, her gaze fixed on the dining table.

His wife gaped at her youngest daughter. "You can't be serious."

Grace glanced up at her mother. "I'm serious."

"But Aaron's family," his wife protested. "You're there for your family."

"We're only family when he needs something," Grace stated, her voice hard and flat. "He's never been there for us," she added softly.

Rabbi Polonski heard what she didn't say. _He was never there for me._

Mrs. Polonski turned to her husband, her eyes pleading with him to yield. "He's our son."

He took her hand and squeezed it, but stood firm. "I'm sorry, Sarah, but I can't do this again."

"He's our son," she whispered again.

"He turned his back on us," Grace said. Her voice rose and the flint in her voice had reached her eyes. "Aaron didn't care about us or if he'd need us or if we'd need him when he left. He wanted to be on his own. Now he is."

Sighing inwardly, the rabbi watched Grace stalk up the stairs to her room. He got up, intent on following her when he heard his wife sniffle.

"I don't think I can tell him no."

He laid a hand on her shoulder. "He'll never learn to stand on his own if we don't."

Sarah nodded and covered his hand with hers. "How did we lose them?"

"I don't know."

She took a shuddery breath and released his hand. "Go to her."

Slowly, he went upstairs and knocked on her door.

"Come in," she'd replied wearily.

He found her sitting at her desk, her feet pulled into the chair. He stood at her elbow and watched her doodle. Now that he was here he didn't know what to say to her.

"It wasn't your fault, wasn't it?" she asked suddenly.

"No."

Grace nodded. "He wanted to leave us."

Again, he heard what she didn't say. _He left me_. "He wanted to leave me."

"Right."

"Grace," he said more sharply than he'd intended. She looked up at him as startled by his tone as he was. "He didn't want to leave you."

"He hated it when I followed him around."

"Perhaps," the rabbi granted, "but he loved you."

She shrugged and turned back to her doodle. "Not enough to stay in my life."

"Maybe it hurt too much."

"Or maybe it didn't hurt enough," she whispered.

The rabbi felt his heart break at the dejection in Grace's voice. He'd always been angriest at Aaron for what his departure did to Grace. Her metamorphosis had started then and he'd lost his Gracie. "I'm sorry," he apologized. He'd failed her.

She shook her head and tilted it back so she could see him. "But you tried."

"I did."

"You can only do so much, right?" she'd said, a tentative smile on her lips.

He caught a glimpse of the little girl she'd once been and he returned her smile. Maybe he hadn't completely lost his Gracie after all. "Right."


	5. Kevin

            He didn't know when it happened but he'd come to think of the baby inside of his wife as an enemy, someone to be warded off.  Their unborn child was the cause of Rebecca's weakness and dizziness and pain.  It was hurting her even as she struggled through the pregnancy. 

            "I'm fine, Kevin.  Stop worrying," Rebecca said.

            In the seven months following the surgery to move the fetus lodged in her tube, it had become her refrain.  Only he never fully believed her.  He remembered what she was like after the surgery: pale, weak, sluggish.  He'd nearly lost her.  Not since his accident had he been so terrified.  He didn't think he could handle losing her.

            As her pregnancy progressed, he found himself watching her.  If she showed the slightest hint of fatigue, he'd insist she take a nap.  If she mentioned food at all, he got her some.  He was so attentive she began to invent reasons for him to leave the house just so she could get some peace.  Kevin knew he was getting on her nerves; he just didn't know how else to protect her.  How did he protect her from the danger growing inside her?

            But she loved their baby.  Kevin wished he could, too. 

            "Why don't you talk to the baby?" she'd asked one night as they'd lain in bed.  "Or rub my stomach?"

            "I don't want to hurt it," he'd lied. 

            "You didn't worry about hurting Leila when I was pregnant with her."

            He turned to look at her.  She was lying on her side, staring back at him with solemn eyes.  Her beauty never ceased to amaze him.  Neither did the fact that she chose him. 

            "Well?" she prompted.

            "Well what?"

            "Well why?"

            "Leila was an easy pregnancy," he finally said, wishing she'd dropped the subject.  "You were safe."

            Rebecca laid her head on his shoulder then.  "I'm fine, Kevin."

            "Okay."

            "I am," she'd insisted.

            "All right.  G'night, Beck."

            Her sigh breezed across his collarbone.  "Good night, Kevin."

            She'd gone to sleep, but he'd lain awake for hours trying to forgive the baby (who he knew was innocent) and maybe even love it.  He'd fallen asleep before he succeeded. 

            Rebecca's labor was an exercise in futile anxiety.  He'd stayed by her side throughout the delivery even though she'd urged him to go to the waiting room with his family.  Taking her hand, he'd locked his gaze on hers and said in no uncertain terms, "I'm staying with you."

            Seven hours later, Trevor was born but Rebecca was hemorrhaging.  Kevin moved out of the way, giving them room to work while he held his breath and the newly born child they'd plopped in his arms.  He stared at his son, praying that he wouldn't have to raise the boy and his sister alone.  _Stay with me, Beck_, he begged silently.  _Stay with me.  I can't do this alone._

            The doctors managed to stop the bleeding, but Kevin knew she still wasn't clear of danger.  He was surrounded by a flurry of medical activity but he only had eyes for his wife.  She was so still, so pale.  _Don't leave me._

            Eventually, the doctors put Kevin out of her room.  He found his family, told them it was a boy, and led them to the nursery to see him.  He'd held Leila close to his heart while she slept.  She looked so much like her mother.  Trevor, he could tell, would take after him. 

            Finally, he was unable to stay away any longer and had gone back to Rebecca's side, Leila still sleeping in his lap.  At first, Kevin thought Rebecca was sleeping too, but she opened her eyes and held out her hand.  He came closer and squeezed it tight.

            "It's not his fault," she whispered.

            He didn't pretend not to know what she meant.  "I know."

            "Then start acting like it," she demanded with a wan smile.

            "I can't lose you."

            "You won't lose me."

            "Can you guarantee that?"

            She sighed.  "Kevin."

            "You can't."

            "Maybe not," she conceded, "but whatever happens to me is not Trevor's fault.  We could have terminated the pregnancy but I didn't want to.  I chose this.  Don't blame him."

            "Okay."

            "Don't say that just to placate me," she warned in a thin, raspy voice.

             "I'm not.  I just . . . I need to blame someone and I can't blame you," he admitted.

            "I'm going to make it through this, Kevin," she assured him, her voice strengthened by her resolve.  "I'm not through with you yet.  And I don't want our children raised on microwaved food alone."

            "Hey, I can cook."

            "But you never do."

            Kevin chuckled, stopping when Leila squirmed in his lap.

            "Mommy?"

            "Hey, baby."

            "You don't look so good."

            "I know," Rebecca said.

            Leila played with her bottom lip.  "Are you okay?"

            "I will be.  Now go back to sleep, sweetheart."

            The little girl nodded and rested her head on Kevin's chest.

            "It's time you got some sleep, too," Kevin said.

            Gingerly, Rebecca shifted into a more comfortable position.  "Stay with me?"

            He parked his wheelchair closer to the bed and laid his head on the mattress.  "I'm not going anywhere."


	6. Iris

A/N: Yeah, so I know it says that I was never going to update this again, but I had originally intended for it to have six parts anyway. I just couldn't think of another female to write about. Which is funny because I've never disliked Iris. She pissed me off a couple times and her voice was grating but I didn't hate her. And I wrote this a _long_ time ago, but I always thought it was unfinished. Well, I've decided to leave it as it is and post it and now I _swear_ that I'll never update this story, collection of shorts, whatever it is, again. Really. Honest. Alexandri

* * *

Iris knew her mother loved her, but at times like this, she seriously doubted that knowledge. With a sigh and a look of grim determination, she entered Skylight Books, hoping that Fate liked her a little bit.

It didn't.

Joan and Adam sat on the bench under the large tree growing in the middle of the deserted store. Their heads were close together as Adam pointed out something to Joan in the oversize art book they were looking at. His arm hung loosely around her waist.

Stifling a sigh, Iris cleared her throat. Joan's head snapped up and, seeing Iris, just barely managed to hide her distaste. "I need to pick up some books that are on hold," she announced before Joan could say anything.

Joan reluctantly stood and went behind the counter. She bent to study the names of the holds then frowned. "What's the last name?"

Iris had thought that Joan couldn't hurt her anymore than she already had, but again she was wrong. Somehow the fact that Joan couldn't even remember her last name was just one more hurt in a multitude of hurts. "Thornton," she said softly.

After a quick, then a thorough, look at the holds, Joan looked distrustfully at Iris. "There's nothing here under Thornton."

Ignoring Joan's suspicion and Adam's uncertainty coming at her from behind, Iris said, "Maybe they're under Laura."

With a barely contained sigh, Joan looked through the names one more time. "Not here," Joan said as she straightened.

"Oh. Well, I'll go look for them," Iris said turning away.

"If you give me the titles, I'll . . ."

"I got it," Iris said quickly. "Thanks." She hurried off into the stacks without looking at either of them, needing to get away from the weight of their stares. Finding the books didn't take long but she couldn't make herself go back to the register. Seeing them together didn't bother her much anymore. Neither bothered to hide their relationship nor should they. Their apparent happiness didn't make her pause. It was the feeling like she'd somehow failed that made the idea of facing them so difficult.

When she'd transferred to Arcadia High after the divorce and the trial that had sent her father to prison, Iris had looked forward to the move, welcomed it even. It was a chance for her to start over. She wouldn't have to shy away from friendships because it was too painful or time-consuming to explain away her countless bruises. She wouldn't have to be afraid or ashamed to have said friends over since her father would no longer be coming home in a rage. For the first time since she was twelve, she'd felt free as if the universe had given her the gift of her childhood back.

But having her "childhood" back hadn't meant that things would be easy. Shortly after she'd gotten to the school, she'd realized that she didn't fit in. While she hadn't expected to become a part of the popular crowd, she had expected to find friends among the less mainstream students. She'd quickly discovered that her love of French cinema and her throwback slang, the result of years of having her quietly eccentric mother as her sole companion, were not shared by any of her fellow classmates. She was as bizarre to these kids as she had been to the kids at her old school. So she'd chosen to direct her energies into volunteering.

Then she'd noticed Adam in her art class and had immediately fallen into the excruciating abyss of an unrequited crush. She'd known it was hopeless from the beginning, and not just because of her weird likes. He was so quiet, plainly in his own world, content to make his art, unconcerned with what the rest of the world thought about it. His confidence in his talent, unspoken yet firm just the same, had spoken to a part of her that longed to be that sure of anything. It hadn't hurt that he was also really cute with his shy smile and dark, wavy hair that he hid far too often under his beanies. As depressing as she'd found her hopeless crush, it had made her feel normal for the first time ever.

The moment in the hall when he'd looked at her and recognized her completely floored her. When he'd asked her to go to The White Stripes concert with him, her heart did a little dance in her chest. When he'd smiled at her and held her hand afterwards, she'd been certain she was dreaming. This incredibly sweet, cute, talented boy could not possibly like her. Then he'd kissed her and she'd decided that, even if it was a dream, she never wanted it to end.

But it did end with a nightmare finish. Even though she'd been the one to walk away, Adam had never really been there in the first place. He'd been coasting with her, filling his time with her to ease the pain of Joan's indecision. He'd used her. She knew that Adam genuinely liked her, but that had been nothing compared to his feelings for Joan. In her quest to be and feel normal, she'd willfully ignored her intuition and made a fool of herself in the process. She'd let him use her.

Now she was hiding out in a bookstore, tears coursing down her face because the simple fact of facing her ruined fantasy yet again without the buffer of school was more than she could handle at the moment. Leaving the books on the shelf, she went to the restroom at the back of the store. She splashed water on her face and patted it dry. Why did she look so tired? she wondered as she stared at her reflection. Maybe because she still felt broken. Almost three years had passed since her father had been put away and she still felt broken.

Knowing she'd cry if she gave free reign to her current thoughts, Iris pushed her thoughts aside and left the restroom. She gathered the books and headed for the register. Adam and Joan had resumed their positions but they were stiff now, awkward like they were waiting for her to show up and throw a wrench in their happiness. The sorrow and bitterness she tried to keep in check welled up in her heart. She was the injured party here. They'd gotten what they wanted. They didn't get to feel apprehensive or uncomfortable.

Tamping down her irritation, she cleared her throat again and went to the register. "I found them."


End file.
